


Greedy

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Love, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Teasing, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 05:57:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19056610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Aziraphale’s breath hitches in his throat, and his pretty lashes shift as he blinks, his hands twitching at his sides. He whispers it, this time, and Crowley pushes his lips forward into a moue, reaching up and pressing two fingers to the shell of his ear, leaning forward as if he’s craning to hear.Aziraphale fidgets, and then snaps, looking at the opposite wall instead of Crowley – although even this, he says very low – "One more I said, blast you."





	Greedy

Six thousand years in the making, and all for this.

This? _This_?

Aziraphale, as naked as the day he was made corporeal, on his back, his eyes fluttered closed, is a _vision_ , and Crowley kneels between his spread thighs, looking down at him. He can’t keep the smile from tugging at his lips, a smile of victory and delight and sheer, unadulterated affection, so much so that he feels like he’ll _drown_ in it.

That one, that was number three. Remarkably good constitution on this body, Crowley thinks, for not even being taken for a _test drive_ before…

His eyes open, and he looks up at Crowley, looking every bit the damsel in ecstasy.

Aziraphale mumbles something.

Sprawled out on the bed, wet and tired and tuckered out, and the haughty angel's posh little accent just melts by the wayside, doesn't it? Crowley grins, sees the dusted pink on Aziraphale's cheeks, and he leans over him, doesn't kiss, doesn't mouth, just breathes over his skin as he traces up from Aziraphale's thigh, his belly, his chest...

Aziraphale shudders, arching into it, and Crowley leans away so that they don't touch.

"Say again?"

"O'n'm'r."

"Angel," Crowley says, sing-song. "I'm gonna need you to speak up a little."

Aziraphale’s breath hitches in his throat, and his pretty lashes shift as he blinks, his hands twitching at his sides. He whispers it, this time, and Crowley pushes his lips forward into a moue, reaching up and pressing two fingers to the shell of his ear, leaning forward as if he’s craning to hear.

Aziraphale fidgets, and then snaps, looking at the opposite wall instead of Crowley – although even this, he says very low – "One _more_ I said, blast you."

Crowley paints an innocent expression on his face. It looks about as right there as canary yellow walls would look right in a funeral home. "One more? _Another_? Angel, am I gonna be allowed to do anything other than fuck you senseless today?"

Aziraphale's flush deepens, and he squirms, not meeting Crowley's gaze as he leans right over the angel's face, their noses brushing against one another. "Wel— Well, I mean to say, I didn't—"

"You know what you are, angel? Greedy."

"I'm not! I—"

Crowley hooks two fingers back inside him, pressing right up against the spongey spot he’s introduced Aziraphale to this morning, and Aziraphale sobs out a noise. Oh, the _noises_ , bless it, but Crowley will die of those noises, die for those noises, just _die_ …

“I love it, you know,” Crowley murmurs, his voice low and dark enough that Aziraphale’s thighs twitch further apart, and he rubs his fingers in a slow, easy circle, just _massaging_. It’s not too much, it’s not a big, hard, heavy thing: it’s gentle, and Aziraphale _sighs_ , his head tipping back against the pillows. “Why do you think I like watching you _eat_ , hm? I like seeing you greedy, stuffing your face, but I like seeing you _drink_ , like seeing you get dressed, the way you stroke the fabric of every single thing in your wardrobe before you pick something. You’re a little hedonist, angel, you know that?”

“I’m not so little,” Aziraphale says, looking up at Crowley with his plump lips and his big, pretty eyes, and Crowley laughs, and kisses him. He presses his thumb to Aziraphale’s clit as he does so, the wet pad of it just dancing over him, and Aziraphale _heaves_ in a gasp, trying to fill his lungs: his hands come up to drag in Crowley’s hair, gripping tightly at it, and Crowley chuckles, nuzzling their noses together.

“’Course you’re not. You’re massive,” Crowley murmurs.

“ _Crowley_!”

“No, no, not like that,” Crowley says quickly when he sees the affronted look on Aziraphale’s face, shaking his head. He speaks earnestly, when he goes on, earnestly and softly, stilling his hand for a second. “No, you’re… you’re _big_ , angel. You fill the frame. You’re everything.”

Aziraphale gulps.

“Oh,” he breathes, and then he exhales. “Oh, Crowley—”

He draws him tenderly into another kiss, and Crowley lets him, presses their lips softly together, and when he pulls back, he murmurs, “I’m meant to be murmuring dastardly talk in your ear and making you come on my fingers, angel.”

“Oh, it’s awfully dastardly, dear, it’s splendid,” Aziraphale says, beaming in his beatific manner. “But, ah, you needn’t, that is to say, I really…”

Crowley arches an eyebrow as he glances at the fingers brushing against his naked chest, and then back up to Aziraphale’s expression, which is somewhere between bashful and wanting, as it always is when he’s about to ask for something, and doesn’t want to actually have to say the words.

Crowley waits.

“ _Well_ ,” Aziraphale says finally, impatiently: he clenches on Crowley’s fingers. “You needn’t—  needn’t _talk_ , that’s all.”

Crowley laughs. “Oh, needn’t I?” He could tease further. He knows he could, knows he could string Aziraphale out until he was begging, yelling, but… That soft smile, those wanting eyes— How is a demon to resist?

He shifts back on his knees, leans down, and replaces his thumb with his mouth.

Aziraphale’s desperate gasps fill the room, the sound reminding Crowley of wingbeats, and he puts himself to his task with more aplomb.

 


End file.
